


Danse Macabre

by Gray_Days



Series: DC Prompt Fills [4]
Category: Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Justice League: Crisis on Two Earths
Genre: Earth-3, Episode: s02e07-08 Maid of Honor, F/F, Mirror Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 12:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10190192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Days/pseuds/Gray_Days
Summary: Superwoman is a problem-solver. She solves problems. By being one.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a combined pair of prompts on tumblr: [Superwoman + music: "Wenn ich tanzen will" / Superwoman and the Princess of Kasnia + broken glass.](http://metatextuality.tumblr.com/post/157889588573/combined-prompt-from-twitter-superwoman-s)

_**Prague, Czech Republic** _

“Excuse me,” said Superwoman with a smile that would be friendly on anyone else. “Is this guy bothering you?”

The young man crowding the woman at the bar was blond, pale, wiry, and fashionable in the way that you tended to find in European dance clubs, leather choker and embroidered vest and tight pants tucked into combat boots. He turned around at the sound of her voice and Superwoman watched the entitled sneer on his face take on a tinge of uncertainty as he looked up — and then _farther_ up — at her. She was wearing a sleeveless top and a gold bib necklace, leaving her shoulders and biceps bare and gleaming under the club’s strobes. “I’m just trying to buy her a drink,” he said defensively.

“He’s bothering me,” said the woman he was bothering. She was fine-boned and petite, barely over five feet, with sharp cheekbones and impeccable smoky eyeshadow.

“You should go,” Superwoman told him.

“Fuck off,” he retorted, turning back to the woman.

Superwoman put her hand on his shoulder and pulled him back around to face her. In perfect Czech, she said, “Sorry, could you repeat that? My English isn’t very good.”

He leaned in toward her and spoke slowly and clearly in the same language, loud enough to carry easily over the music. “I said mind your own business, lady.” He tried to knock her hand off his shoulder. She caught his wrist.

“Actually, I don’t think you did, but thanks for trying to clean it up for me.” Superwoman tightened her grip on his wrist and his face went white for the fraction of a second before she threw him through the nearest window.

The nearest window was at the front of the club facing out onto the street, a good thirty or forty feet from the bar. It shattered gloriously as he went through it, flying shards and broken edges glittering crazily under the multicoloured strobelight. Several people screamed and ducked belatedly out of the way. The crowd on the dance floor and out of the line of sight from the window partied on in blissful ignorance.

Superwoman opened the wallet she’d taken from his back pocket and pulled out his ID. Jakob Lanik. She slid it across the bar to the bartender, who was staring at her open-mouthed. “If this man ever comes back, turn him away.” Not that it was likely, if he even survived the impact and the glass lacerations. She took the cash from the wallet — about €200, it looked like — and dropped it next to Jakob’s ID card. “For the window.” Her smile hadn’t faded since she’d come up to the bar.

“That was _amazing_ ,” Jakob’s target said in English. Her eyes were wide and bright, strobes reflecting in her pupils like fairy lights.

Superwoman’s smile widened. “I know, but thanks nonetheless.”

“You have to let me buy you a drink,” the woman continued. “What do you like?”

Purposeful movement in the crowd beyond her caught Superwoman’s eye. Two men in suits, one moving along the rear wall and the other wading through the crowd on the dancefloor, both converging on the bar. She took the woman’s hand on apparent impulse, running her thumb over the knuckles. “If you want to treat me, you might have to do it somewhere else.” She nodded subtly in the direction of the approaching muscle.

The woman followed her gaze, then laughed, high and effervescent, the kind of laughter that people described as sounding like bells but that sounded nothing like them. “Oh, don’t worry about them. Those are just my bodyguards.” She draped herself easily against the bar and smiled at Superwoman. Her lips were very full. “I’m Irena.”

Kasnia’s infamous party princess. Superwoman hadn’t recognised her in this lighting. She raised Irena’s hand to her lips and pressed a kiss against it, holding her gaze long enough to shatter any illusion of platonic politeness. “Superwoman.”

“What do you like, Superwoman?” Irena asked, regally unruffled.

“Something sweet and very strong.” Superwoman finally let go of her hand and Irena propped her elbow on the bar.

“You heard the woman,” she told the bartender. “And a Cosmo for me. Chop chop.” Just then the first of her bodyguards arrived and Irena sighed dramatically. “Oh good, you’re here. You can go back to holding up the wall now, please. Everything is under control here.”

“But Miss Souvka—”

Irena switched to rapid-fire Kasnian. “Did I ask your opinion? I’m fine and have the protection of a very impressive and competent date. If you’d like my father to continue paying you to be useless, be quiet and let me have my fun. Otherwise I’ll take my chances with a taser and a woman who could break you in half over her knee.”

It was always entertaining to watch a man that large deflate. He gave Superwoman a long look replete with impotent suspicion, then replied, “Understood, Miss Souvka.” He snagged his approaching colleague as he retreated, leaning in to mutter something in his ear before taking up a post at the end of the bar. His fellow scanned the room before finding somewhere to lurk along the wall.

“Now,” said Irena in English again, “Where were we?”

“‘Impressive and competent’?” Superwoman asked, eyebrow raised.

“You would rather I’d used different words?” The bartender set their drinks in front of them and Irena picked hers up, cradling it in her hand like a wine glass without drinking from it.

“Oh, no,” Superwoman said honestly. “I’m interested in what you think of me.” She took a sip of her drink. Sweet and _very_ strong. Her lips curled against the glass. “You’re not scared.”

Irena scoffed. “Of course not. You’re my knight in shining armour. If you hadn’t been here, I would have had to take care of that jerk all by myself.”

“And if my intentions were less innocent than mere sexual harassment?” Superwoman asked mildly.

The princess glanced up at her, calculation showing through her blithe facade. “My country’s treasury is tied up in infrastructure and debts, and it has no military or political importance to speak of for anyone who doesn't live there. Even if you wanted to ransom me, you’d have better luck picking up some American celebrity. And if you wanted me dead, there’s nothing I or anyone else could do about it. Which leaves only corruption.” She finally lifted her glass to her lips and drank, never breaking eye contact. When she put her glass down, it was nearly empty. Her smile, already nestling a tantalising hint of wickedness in its curves, turned downright diabolical. “And I _can’t_ be corrupted.”

Superwoman tossed the rest of her drink back and set the glass on the bar, then held her hand out in invitation. “Why don’t we see about that?”

Irena snatched at her hand and immediately pulled Superwoman in the direction of the dancefloor. “I thought you’d never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Soundtrack:**  
>  • [Wenn ich tanzen will](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1CSN631-Hpc) from Elisabeth  
> • [Sugar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lu6T_I0ODRI) by Robin Schulz (female cover)
> 
> The gift of Minerva grants Superwoman the ability to comprehend and communicate in all human languages. The source of her linguistic ability is not widely known, but it _is_ very convenient.
> 
> (I swear on my grave that this entire scenario was not leading up to a joke about Superwoman being a cunning linguist. It's just a wonderful, serendipitous bonus.)


End file.
